By The Englishman, last week:
“It’s my Birthday and the pub is open extra hours, what could possibly go wrong?”

I haven’t heard back from him since…
By The Englishman, last week:
“It’s my Birthday and the pub is open extra hours, what could possibly go wrong?”

I haven’t heard back from him since…
I knew quite a few men in my yoof who ran this danger:
A small Australian marsupial known as the antechinus shot to fame after the discovery of two new species five years ago, when scientists revealed how males every mating season are, quite literally, killing themselves by having too much sex.
During the brief breeding period, males ferociously copulate with as many females as possible, in violent sessions that can last upwards of 14 hours – and, their bodies deteriorate as a result.
In the animal kingdom, reproduction can be a dangerous and peculiar game.
Not just in the animal kingdom, Bubba. In humans, this circumstance is known as “Spring Break” where, as is the case for the antechinus, all that’s required is a multitude of willing female partners.


(If perchance you spot your daughter or [shudder] granddaughter in either of the above pics, I apologize sincerely.)
And for those callow young men who think this antechinal fate couldn’t possibly befall them, let me assure you: after a single bout of frantic lovemaking, you’ll be pleasantly sated; but after four such encounters with different partners, even over a whole weekend, you’ll feel like death would be a welcome respite.
So trust me: after fourteen partners on the trot, your internal (and for that matter external) organs, like that of antechinus, are going to resemble raw beef, eggs and carrots after a minute spent in a blender.
Don’t ask me how I know this. I still have the nightmares.
“Dear Dr. Kim,
“I like keeping myself fit, so I jog every day, sometimes twice a day. My boyfriend resents all this time I spend away from him, and told me to stop. In fact, he threatened to break off our engagement if I didn’t. What should I do?”
— Fitness-Obsessed, Los Angeles
Dear Obsessive:
Keep jogging. Frankly, if he’s that much of a control freak (and he is), then you’ll be well rid of him. And for your next boyfriend, pick someone who’s as big an idiot about jogging as you are.
— Dr. Kim

Good thing this didn’t happen in London: nobody would have had a knife.
“Dear Dr. Kim:
“A couple weeks ago, I was out riding my bicycle (as part of my fitness regime). I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts because the weather was hot, and I didn’t want to sweat too much. I was about five miles from home, riding pretty fast when I took a corner on the gravel trail and my back wheel went out from under me. I hit the ground pretty hard and although I wasn’t seriously injured, I still got a massive case of “road rash” on my shoulder, biceps, forearm and calf muscle, all on the left side. I managed to limp home (the bike was pretty mangled) and cleaned up, then put antibiotic gel on the scrapes and covered each of them with a sterile dressing.
“The stinging and burning lasted for several days, and one evening I was lying there unable to sleep, when a thought came to me: I needed something to take my mind off the pain. The problem was that I couldn’t move much without pulling off the dressing, and I realized that I needed some mothering: not to be too graphic — and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this — I wanted something like a blowjob to get the proper level of distraction.
“So I put out a couple of calls to some lady friends and outlined my need for a little nursing, some… shall we say “advanced” mothering. To cut a long story short [too late — Dr.K] , not ONE of these friends was the slightest bit interested in helping me out.
“Now my question: was I asking too much of my lady friends?”
— Road Rash, Atlanta
Dear Mr. Rash (Swedish, is it?):
Let me give you more than one answer, because you have some bigger issues than frigid girl friends.
In the first place: unless you’re training for a serious athletic event like the Tour de France, I see absolutely no need for anyone to ride a bicycle outdoors — especially when there are any number of stationary bikes to be had on eBay. Outside, there lies sunburn, heatstroke, traffic collisions, bugs, bitey pit bulls, excessive sweating and, as you discovered, a real possibility of injury from a simple fall.
Stop that shit. God invented air-conditioning — or maybe it was Westinghouse, I don’t remember — but regardless, you can get all the exercise you need without going outdoors and exposing yourself to the elements and/or automobile accidents, bitey pit bulls etc. You got off easy this time, so take it as a warning.
Now for your second issue, that of your so-called “lady friends” who won’t help you get through your pain. I find it a difficult one to address because back in my day, most men had any number of female acquaintances — let alone actual female friends — who would be only too willing to pop over for a little impromptu nursing if a man were to be ill or injured. Hell, I remember one time when even my cousin Stephanie… ah, never mind.
Your problem, you will be either glad or saddened to note, is not an uncommon one these days. Modern young women seem to have lost all sense of maternal feelings, probably because they’re “building careers”, “finding themselves” or else spending all their spare time looking at their bloody cell phones. Then when they reach the age of oh, thirty-two, they suddenly rediscover their maternal instinct, only it’s not for a wounded friend like yourself, but for an actual baby — which means you’ve lost out not just once (as a young man) but twice (as an older one).
Personally, I blame the godless feministicals, who have poisoned the minds of these young women and made them feel as though a blowjob is a privilege, to be grudgingly (if at all) doled out only as a reward for “good behavior” on a man’s part, e.g. buying them a diamond necklace for Valentine’s Day or paying to have their kitchen remodeled. This, when we all know that a BJ is more of a friendly gesture, carrying as it does no fear of pregnancy nor even excessive emotional attachment (if properly positioned).
What you need to do is to cut these women out of your life, ASAP. I have no idea where one finds a “normal” woman with mothering/nursing instincts — like I said, this seems to be a recent phenomenon and one outside my experience and expertise — but one thing’s for sure: the lady “friends” that you have are not true friends at all. (Although you can be sure that if they needed your ummm muscles, e.g. to help them move house or put up a heavy shelf, they’d be all over you like syrup on a pancake.) Ditch ’em, and good riddance.
Good luck with your recovery, and don’t forget to sell your bike — if it’s not too badly damaged, that is — and start exercising responsibly, indoors. That’s the important lesson, here.
— Dr. Kim
Try to keep up. There will be a quiz later.
So there’s this police station in Britishland where the concept of fraternization seems to be endemic, and a whole lot of pens are being dipped in the office ink, so to speak. Here goes:
1.) Head Cop (female) is bonking Constable #1 (male) in a full-time kind of situation:

2.) Firearms Instructor (male) is bonking the Phys Ed Instructor (female), also on a full-time basis:

So far, so good.
However, while these “long-term” relationships are going on, Head Cop is also doing some extracurricular bonking with Firearms Instructor, to whit:
“There are allegations of shagging in hotel rooms, shagging in police HQ and shagging in a police car. It’s crazy.”
But that’s not all. Head Cop was previously married to Another Constable (#2) in the same station, with whom she had three children but later divorced.
Amazingly, Constable #1 isn’t bonking Phys Ed Instructor (that we know of, anyway) and nobody seems to be bonking the ex-husband, Constable #2 — although given the nature of this police station, he’s probably having a fling with Desk Sergeant (gender unknown).
One wonders how they ever get any actual, you know, police work done amidst all that intramural bonking; the answer (as former PC “David Copperfield” from the much-missed Coppersblog will tell you) is that they probably aren’t. Doing any police work, that is. Hard to do when the loins are locking and the hips are thrusting pretty much 24/7.
My question is this:
Since when did small British cop shops get to have firearms instructors?